


Top Core

by halfeatenmoon



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF, Zoids
Genre: Crossover, Gen, RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-09-04
Updated: 2008-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfeatenmoon/pseuds/halfeatenmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Top Gear test drive Zoids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction I

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, I don't write much of this any more, but I do intend to eventually. I have some great ideas.

Jeremy Clarkson was speechless.

He had seen a lot of unusual vehicles in his time. He had seen big ones before – the tractors, for example, or, if he included boats, the gigantic ships he had to avoid while driving across the Channel. He had seen cars in ridiculous colours, from lime green to sort of vomit-coloured to that horrendous thing with the pink on it that Richard had tried to turn into a police car. He had even seen cars that seemed to have personalities or minds of their own, as weird as most people found that.

But he had never seen anything that could have prepared him for the sight of a nine-metre-high, bright blue mechanical cat darting playfully over his track.

"What the bloody Hell is _that_?" Hammond asked, trotting up behind him.

The cat-robot-thing came to a surprisingly graceful halt in front of them. From what seemed like a dizzyingly long way above them, James peered out from under the orange cockpit canopy and shouted something.

"We can't hear you!" Jeremy shouted back.

"I _said_, it's a… oh, bollocks to this," James muttered to himself, when he realised that the others still couldn't hear him. He pulled the canopy down again, grabbed the controls and manoeuvred the machine into lying down, resting its head between its two front paws so that James was only a few metres from the ground.

"I _said_," he began again, swinging his legs over the side of the cockpit, "It's a _Zoid_."

"Right. Thanks, James, that makes this all so much clearer."

"Absolutely. Why would we want to know anything _else_ about a gigantic blue robot cat you drive up out of nowhere?"

Despite their sarcasm, both were fascinated, and they crept forward to run their hands over the warm blue metal. The thing was massive – each of the paws alone was almost as big as a small car, and the two long fangs protruding from its upper jaw were about as long as Jeremy was tall. He clambered cautiously on top of one of the front paws and eyed the fangs nervously. He glanced up again to see James helping Richard into the cockpits back seat.

"You fancy a ride too, Clarkson?"

…

As soon as the cockpit canopy shut on them, Jeremy and Richard could see that there were going to be problems. They glanced at each other nervously. It was difficult _not_ to stare at each other because their heads were squashed so close together in the confined space.

"Er, James?"

"Yes, what is it?" their pilot asked, without looking around. The Zoid had far more controls and switches than a car and so his usual methodical pre-drive procedures were taking even longer than usual.

"Don't you think this might be a bit too cramped?"

"Oh, stop complaining. You're lucky the Blade Liger's a two-seater model. Most Zoids don't have any passenger seats at all."

"Really?" Richard momentarily forgot about the discomfort of trying to share a seat with Jeremy Clarkson. "That's a bit of a waste, isn't it? A machine this big and it only carries one person?"

James just shrugged at that. "Well, you can squeeze a few extra in if you need to. Now shut up and let me concentrate."

Richard realised that while he'd been distracted, Jeremy had taken most of the seat space and he was sitting awkwardly on top of the cockpit 'wall', with his back pressed up against the canopy.

"But Clarkson took the seat! Make him give it back."

"I don't care what you two do. Sit on his lap if you have to, you ought to be small enough. Now shut up before I throw you both out."

Jeremy grinned wickedly at Richard and patted his knee in invitation. Richard weighed up his options. Sitting on Clarkson's lap would be hideously embarrassing, but there was nobody there to see them, and while it was unlikely to be any more comfortable than his current position, he was definitely less likely to fall out. After all, they didn't have a clue how safe this thing was. With a muttered curse that only made Jeremy's smile bigger, he sat down on Jeremy's knee.

"All settled then?" James asked. Without waiting for an answer, he gripped a lever that looked something like an automatic gearstick and shoved it forward, and the other two forgot to say anything clever as the Blade Liger took off.

It was not a smooth ride. While whoever or whatever designed the thing had clearly tried to make the cockpit as stable as possible – they were seated in what would be the big cat's head, the part with the least up-and-down motion – it was impossible to eliminate bumpiness in a vehicle that ran on four legs rather than using the more sensible wheels. As they adjusted to the Zoid's steady gait, however, Richard and Jeremy managed to relax, stop clinging to each other and actually enjoy the ride.

"So where did you find this thing, James?" Richard asked, at last.

"Ah. Yes. Interesting story, that. You know all my model planes and trains and things?"

"Ye-es…" he said, slowly, wondering where this could possibly be going.

James concentrated very hard on the track in front of him and braced for the inevitable mocking. "Well, there's this thing, it's sort of a club, and they have meets every…" He trailed off as Jeremy and Richard, predictably, burst out laughing,

"There's a _club_ for building _model trains_?" Jeremy gasped, almost crying with laughter. "I think that might just be nerdier than trainspotting!"

"And, what, you get together on weekends and sit around painting your little models together?" Richard joined in, gripping the back of James' seat.

James kept the Liger bounding around the track for several minutes before he decided he'd had enough and rather wanted to get on with the story now. When the other two didn't listen to his attempts to explain, he calmly brought the Blade Liger to an abrupt halt and made it shake its head a bit for good measure. Unfortunately for Jeremy and Richard, they hadn't bothered with the safety harness like James had, and by the time he pulled the Zoid to a stop they were a shaken, tangled mess all over the back of the cockpit.

"Right," he said, authoritatively. "Are you two going to shut up and listen, or will I get going again?"

"You'll open the bloody thing and get some fresh air in, unless you want me to vomit all over your dashboard."

Richard's voice was muffled as he was firmly trapped underneath Jeremy, which gave James another smug grin. He very much enjoyed watching them untangle themselves.

He did open the cockpit pretty quickly, though.

"As I was saying," he continued, happily, while his co-presenters gulped down fresh air while sitting conspicuously on opposite sides of the cockpit, as far away from each other as possible, "There's a model club near my house, and they have meets every now and again where we all get together and muck around with model kits."

He paused then, expecting innuendo of some sort at his expense, but there was only silence, so he continued. "It's mostly trains and cars and planes and things, but one of the blokes there likes these Zoid models from Japan – bunch of little motorised things, all shaped like animals, bit childish I thought. Anyway, a while ago the Stig followed me to a meeting…"

"Why on Earth would he want to do that?" Jeremy demanded.

"How am I supposed to know why he does anything? Like I said, he followed me, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he just wanted to know what the point of miniature cars was. I don't know. Anyway, as soon as I picked up one of those Zoid toys, he walked right out, and then yesterday he came over to my house and drove me back here to show me this thing."

"So where'd it come from?" Richard had recovered now and was hovering over his shoulders, gazing at the controls. "Did the Stig go and steal a full-sized Zoid from Japan, then?"

"Apparently," James said, with a sigh, knowing how ridiculous it sounded, "It's from another planet."

There was a long silence and James was certain the others were about to tell him he must be mad.

"Well, that makes sense," Jeremy said, at last. "Clearly the Japanese are aliens and that's why their cars don't fall apart."

"Oh, very funny. I'm serious. I know it sounds mad, but the fact that it's here at all is mad enough, and that's where Stig said he got it from."

"He actually spoke to you?"

"No, but you know what I mean. He has his ways."

"I don't think it's that strange," Richard said, "Why shouldn't there be a planet full of robot animals?"

"Does this mean that the Stig is definitely an alien?" Jeremy's mind was on more important questions. "I always suspected him, you know, but I never thought there'd be any absolute proof."

"Well, it looks that way," said James. "And if he isn't an alien, he must have some extra-terrestrial contacts somewhere."

"Or else this thing isn't from outer space at all and it really was made on Earth."

They all had a good laugh at that one.

"Well then, Captain Slow," Jeremy had a dangerous look in his eye, "Stop hogging those controls and give someone else a go. Let's see how fast this thing can really get."

Before James could protest he found himself hauled into the back seat on top of Richard while Jeremy settled into the pilot's seat. Without any instruction at all, Jeremy had the thing galloping at twice the speed James had run it.

"How's about that acceleration? Straight into top speed! What did you say this thing was called?" Jeremy was completely unruffled by his inability to keep the Zoid off the grass.

"Erm, well, the general term for the vehicle type is 'Zoid', and this model is a Blade Liger. It's sort of average sized, I think."

"You think?"

"Well I've only seen the tiddly little model things before, not this great big one. They could all be completely out of scale for all I know."

"Are they all big blue cats?" Richard asked.

"They're all animals. But they come in different sizes. And different animals. There are dogs and things as well."

"Are there any badgers?" Jeremy asked, before careening wildly off the track and slowing to a halt after he'd knocked over several trees.

"Not that I know of," James said, pushing open the canopy and peering down at the Blade Liger's body. "You'd better not have scratched any of the paintwork, or I'm going to make you repaint the whole thing by hand."

"Never mind that," Jeremy turned around to grin at Richard, "This thing's bloody fast! How fast do you reckon that was, Richard?"

"No idea. Just very fast. Pity the ride's so bumpy, though. We should take it back to the start line and see if we can do a proper lap in it so we can figure out the speed."

"Oh, no you don't," James grabbed at Hammond's wrist before he could make a bid for the controls himself. "Neither of you is going any faster than a walk until you learn how to steer it properly. If you really must get a lap time today, we'll get the Stig to do it.

…

It wasn't a filming day. There was nobody at the track except the three presenters, the Blade Liger, and the Stig. It was a mixed blessing. Mucking around with a great big blue robot cat would have made for a great show. On the other hand, it would have been a real embarrassment to those presenters for the nation to see them all slightly scared to tell their 'tame' racing driver what to do.

When James had returned the Blade Liger safely to the side of the track with no trees, he had cheerfully approached the Stig with the perfectly reasonable request that he take it for a turn around the track so that they could clock a standard lap time. None of them were prepared for what happened next.

He refused.

Unnerved by the stubborn behaviour of their not-so-tame driver, who stood aloof with his arms crossed in determination, all three had gathered into a whispering huddle as they wondered what to do next.

"Maybe he doesn't want to do it because we're not filming."

"Did anyone bring a handheld?"

"Shouldn't we just ask him why he won't do it?"

"You go ask him, Hammond."

"Maybe we should offer him a pay rise."

"He's not getting paid to come here today – there's no pay to raise!"

"I think we should punish him." Jeremy said, decisively. "He's supposed to be a _tame_ racing driver – we can't let him get out of hand like this."

"Sure, Jez, go right ahead. Just leave me out of it."

Jeremy glanced over at the Stig. It was hard to see under that helmet, but he could _feel_ the Stig staring at him.

"Maybe we should buy him a new helmet."

"Will he take it off?"

"A new car, then."

"Can we afford it?"

"Is it really that important to get him to drive it, anyway?"

Suddenly they all stopped talking and looked up to see that the Stig had walked over to stare at them. It was impossible to read his expression, of course, but he gave the impression of being faintly disgusted.

"You're really not going to drive it, then?" Jeremy asked him, after the other two had shoved him forward with mutters of "You get paid the most."

The Stig shrugged at that.

"Well, what are we supposed to do, then? I mean, I guess we don't really need to get you to do a lap if you don't…"

He trailed off as the Stig shook his head and pointed towards the hangar. Walking towards them was something that would have been shocking if not for the Blade Liger behind them – a human-sized, silver, robotic dinosaur.

With a racing helmet.

"It's a Robot Stig!"

"Or a Silver Stig."

"Or a Zig."

The others turned to stare at Richard.

"Well, you know, 'Zoid Stig', so it's 'Zig'… fine, shut up, _I_ thought it was funny."

"So _that's_ going to be our racing driver?" Jeremy asked, incredulous, but also amused. The robot growled at him. "Sorry, so _you're_ going to be our racing driver."

"We can't really claim that this one's the Stig's cousin as well, can we?"

"Why not? So, er, Stig… Metal Stig… we'll work out the name later, would you please do a lap in the Blade Liger for us so we can time it?

The Organoid nodded once silently, and then, in a blaze of light, launched itself into the air with a pair of small boosters on its back, arced through the air and hit the Blade Liger square between its shoulders. It disappeared completely inside the Zoid, and the Liger raised its head to roar as the glow from the Stig's boosters spread like a halo around its entire body.

"Did… did he just… _fuse_ with it?"

The (human) Stig nodded.

"Huh. I guess that would certainly give you control."

"And it really knows how to make an impressive… er… entrance."

"Right, enough talking," Jeremy grumbled, walking to the edge of the track with his stopwatch. "Metal dinosaur Stig, can you hear me from there?"

The Blade Liger roared, presumably in the affirmative.

"Right then! You may start your engine in three… two… one!"

The Blade Liger leapt from the starting line and in a few strides, it had engaged the back-mounted rockets that the human pilots hadn't found the controls for.

"Fast!"

"Shiny."

"Is that allowed?" James asked, mildly, as the Blade Liger veered off the track when it took the first corner.

"Why the hell not? It's almost too big to fit on the road anyway."

It didn't bother trying to swerve through the Hammerhead, the curves too small to matter to a vehicle of such size, and although the Blade Liger was far too big to squeeze past the wall of tyres and still stay on the track, it neatly leaped right over them. Considering the power of those boosters it would have done a faster time in a straight line and without that last curve – on the final turn it swerved so hard that it skidded off the track, leaving deep gashes in the outside turf – but all in all, when it breezed past the finish line, the boys were very impressed.

"Under a minute, wouldn't you say?" James seemed a bit pleased with himself.

"Why are you acting like you own it?" Richard asked.

"Bloody Hell," was Jeremy's only comment.

They watched in awe as the Zoid came to an impressively quick, smooth stop, and their new racing driver detached itself from the vehicle, launching itself up into the air and landing right in front of them.

"That's settled, then," Clarkson said, with a grin, "I want one. Let's see them try to keep _this_ out of the bloody bus lane."

"Oh no you don't," Hammond grabbed him by the arm as he started towards the Zoid. "You've both had a go. It's my turn now."

"But…"

"_My turn_."

"Leave him, Jezza," James warned. "Don't want to get Hamster angry with you on such a nice day, do you?"

"I have to!" Jeremy complained, but he didn't follow Richard.

"You're as bad as each other. Am I the only adult on this show?" James' superior tone was somewhat harder to take seriously when he was scratching Metal Stig's back ridges.

"I don't know. Yes. I didn't get a proper go last time."

"Well it's mine…"

"No it's not, it just turned up here. We don't know who owns it! Maybe it's the Stig's."

"I saw it first then, so I get to decide whose turn it is. And now it's Richard's."

"Fine, _Mum_," Jeremy muttered with mock resentment as he watched Metal Stig roll over, wanting to have its tummy scratched.

…

Richard was not, in fact, bolting straight off to play with the Blade Liger. He had stopped halfway towards it, where the Stig was sitting in a crouch with his back to the track, picking at the grass. It was a phenomenon never before been seen by human eyes, but there was no doubt that the Stig was sulking.

"Hey, Stig."

The tame racing driver looked up at Richard.

"You're the one who got that thing for James, aren't you? It was your idea, wasn't it?"

The Stig nodded.

"So why won't you take it for a run? Don't you know how to use it? Or is it against your religion or something?"

No response; the Stig returned to shredding blades of grass in his white-gloved fingers – though mysteriously none of that fabric was remotely grass-stained.

"Tell you what," Richard said, squatting down beside him like he would to a child. "Why don't you sit in the back seat while I take her for a lap, eh?"

The Stig didn't even look at him this time. After a few minutes, Richard gave a sigh and stood up to walk off – and then he felt a tug at his sleeve.

…

"Don't know what you're so afraid of," Richard said, breezily, as he started the Zoid forward at an easy trot. "These are pretty simple controls. Although I can't say I know what all the extra buttons are for."

The Stig shook his head at that.

Richard gave up on trying to make conversation with the Stig after the first easy lap. When he'd come back around once he was vaguely aware of Jeremy shouting at him to stop being so bloody slow or he was going to come up there and teach him how to drive. Consequently, Richard kicked up the speed to a full-stretch gallop and messy as it was, levelling a few more trees in the process, he finished the second lap in what he thought was a pretty good time, without even having to use the rocket boosters. He was getting to like this crazy thing, too.

"My turn!" Jeremy was shouting when they came around for the second time. Richard was feeling petty now. He'd only just gotten in, and he liked riding in the Blade Liger, even though it had almost made him sick when James was driving it. And Jeremy almost crashed it the first time he drove it, anyway. Why should he trust him with it at all?

"It's not your turn yet!" Richard shouted back. "The Stig hasn't had a go yet!"

"He doesn't want to!"

"It's only fair!"

Richard turned around again at a tap on his shoulder; the Stig was shaking his head. A little sadly, Richard thought.

"Are you sure you don't want a go? Really? Because it looks to me like you do."

A shrug.

"Go on. There shouldn't be anything wrong with it. If you kick those rocket boosters in I bet you'd love it!"

After a pause, the Stig conceded and they awkwardly swapped seats, Richard taking the back seat and the Stig sliding into the front. If only he could talk, Richard would have known why the Zoid growled and shook its head when the Stig took to the controls.

"Come on, Stig," Richard whispered to him, "Show us what you can do."

Under the Stig's expert hand, the Blade Liger leaped forward once again. But it didn't like it one bit.

"Woah!" Richard was thrown back in his seat as the Zoid zigzagged across the track, doubled back, tossed its head around, doing anything but go in a straight line. "What do you think you're doing, Stig?"

It was as though the Zoid didn't like him. But whoever heard of a vehicle with a grudge against its driver?

As the Zoid turned a corner far too sharply and they were both thrown against the side of the cockpit, Richard started to get angry. Machines weren't supposed to pick their drivers, they weren't supposed to misbehave like this. They were meant to do what they were told. And he'd buy a Beetle before he let a silly blue cat make a fool of their tame racing driver.

"Come on, Stig," Richard murmured as they headed back in the direction of the building complex. "Kick in those boosters. Show this thing what you're made of."

The Stig gave a slow nod and wrestled with the controls. The Blade Liger, as though in protest, came to a complete stop and shook its head again. As a humming sound filled the cockpit, though, Richard was sure that the Stig was winning, that those reverberations were the boosters revving up. Richard hadn't noticed the two golden blades on either side of the Zoid, and it hadn't noticed the blades flip up and forward over the Blade Liger's back while the Stig was fighting it. So it was a complete surprise to Richard Hammond when, quite abruptly, a beam of crackling energy shot from the Zoid's blades, arced over the rest of the track and set fire to the entire trackside building complex.

"Ah," Richard said, after a long silence. "In hindsight, I suppose you must have known that would happen."  
…

It was evening by the time the whole mess was, relatively speaking, sorted out. The fire department had been and gone and angry words had been had with the BBC. Very angry words. The repair job was going to take quite a while, and also quite a lot of money. Father's Day was coming up and the profits from all the Top Gear DVDs that are traditionally sold over that period would at least go some way to covering it, but unless the boys could find some way to film Top Gear without a studio and a track, they wouldn't have any Top Gear work for quite a while.

"There's clearly only one thing to do," Jeremy said, decisively, as they all sat by the side of track, watching Metal Stig take the Blade Liger for another rip around the circuit, just for fun. "We're going to go to whatever planet this thing comes from and test out the whole lot of them."

"No." Richard gaped at him. "No way. How are we even going to get there?"

"It must have gotten here somehow," James pointed out, reasonably. "And Metal Stig is from there, so he can find a way back."

"Are you agreeing to this, James? You realise what you're proposing, don't you?"

James reflected on that for a moment. "You're right. I am agreeing to one of Clarkson's schemes. Clearly I'm going mad."

"No you're not, you're just seeing what a brilliant idea it is," Jeremy grinned at him. "Come on, both of you, it'll be fantastic fun. How hard can it be?"


	2. Introduction II

When the Top Gear crew landed on Zi, they thought at first that they'd gotten the wrong place. Sand, sand, wind and more sand, as far as the eye could see. Just lifeless desert in every direction, and not a hint of civilisation in sight.

Then a giant mechanical scorpion burst out of the ground and chased them for half an hour, so they knew they were in the right place after all.

Once he'd made suitably remorseful gestures for dumping the humans in the path of a Guysack and then forgetting about them, Sieg led them in the _right_ direction and they went on their merry, tired, sandy way. By the end of the first day they were happily ensconced within civilisation and looking forward to a brave new world of driving giant robots very fast. Sieg, unfortunately, had other ideas.

"I do _not_ need a bloody _training_ session," Clarkson fumed as the organoid led them down the stairs of the apartment complex where they were staying. "I know perfectly well how to drive."

"That's not what it looked like when you crashed my Blade Liger into a tree," James retorted.

"It's not _your_ Blade Liger."

"Then whose is it?"

"The Stig's?" Richard piped up.

"The Stig drove it even worse than Jezza did."

They walked out through the doors of the lobby behind their robotic test pilot and were met by a smiling middle-aged man with a small whiteboard on a stand, three plastic folding chairs and a gigantic white Liger Zoid.

"Doctor Toros at your service," he said, happily, "Formerly of the Zoids Academy. I'm going to be your piloting instructor today. We don't have a licensing system here, but since you're new to the planet it's really best that you have a crash course in Zoids before you start blowing things up."

"I wish he wouldn't say 'crash course' around Clarkson," Richard said, in a mutter only James could hear. "It only makes him worse."

"Or 'blowing things up' for that matter," James agreed.

"And this is the Liger Zero," Toros continued, gesturing to the white-armoured Zoid. "A great basic Zoid for training in."

Sieg growled its firm disagreement with that assessment of the Liger Zero's capabilities, but nobody had learned to decipher its growl yet, so James offered it another tummy rub. Sieg didn't particularly mind that.

Jeremy's scowl was beginning to look positively menacing by the time he sat down in one of the folding plastic chairs that Doc Toros had set out for them. Richard and James inched away from him slightly and started taking bets on how long their training session would last.

"Zoids are true multi-purpose machines. They can function as vehicles for passengers or cargo, as war machines and as tools…"

Within ten minutes of this introduction, the plastic chairs were overturned, James slipped Richard a tenner and Doc Toros was looking highly bewildered as Jeremy subjected him to a long string of words that they didn't let him say on television.

"That's enough, Jezza." James butted in when he paused for breath, and pulled him away by his elbow. "Let's go and find the Stig so we can start on a challenge, eh?"

Richard could still hear him grumbling expletives as the two of them walked away. It was always a bit worrying when Jeremy jumped straight into his foulest language, especially this early in the morning. But then he started making not-very-subtle jokes about James' sexual orientation, so Richard knew it was all going to turn out fine.

"Don't take it to heart," he said to Toros, who seemed more bemused than offended. "We'll just let him run for the time being. Jeremy just isn't very good at being told things. But it's a win for both of you really, because he gets to skip training and you get to laugh at him and say 'I told you so' when he crashes on his first lap."

"I look forward to it," Toros said, without the slightest trace of malice. Then he realised that Richard had said 'lap'. "Ah, yes, the track. It's not entirely finished yet, I'm afraid. This was supposed to be the training day, so I didn't expect that we'd need it quite yet."

Richard just shrugged. "Not to worry, we'll make do. We can time ourselves racing to a tree and back if we have to, it's just about getting a standard. How much work do you have left to do?"

"Really not a lot. I think we could get it done by the end of the day if you boys want to go Zoid-shopping now."

There was a moment's silence.

"Do you need any help with the track?"

"Just with the combat test. I don't suppose you saw any wild Guysacks in the desert on your way here?"

"That depends. What's a Guysack?"

"Big scorpion-shaped Zoid?"

"Yep, saw one of those. Right over that way." He pointed off into the distance. "I think that's which way it was, anyway. Why do you need to know?"

"Because I need to catch one," the Doc said, with a grin. "All part of the testing for Zoids, you know. Wouldn't mind a bit of help with that if you've got the time."

"Do you know, Doc, I really think I'm better off going shopping for a Zoid than trying to catch one."

"Oh, really, are you sure about that?" Toros persisted. "Can be quite fun, a wild Zoid hunt."

"No, really, I think I need to learn to pilot one first," Richard apologised, backing away. "See you this afternoon!"

He pelted off with Sieg, following the trail of curses. Toros hummed to himself as he scaled the Liger Zero's side. He was looking forward to their first test on the track.

…

The Stig, despite his apparent issues with Zoids, had come to Zi as well. It wasn't strictly necessary, as Zeke/Sieg/Metal Stig/Zig/the Sieg was well able to guide them to the right planet. But they knew better than to argue with the Stig, and if he wanted a holiday in outer space, then why not?

Besides, they did need a man in white to hand them their challenges.

"Your first challenge," Jeremy read out, "Is to buy a reasonably-priced Zoid with which to pass a series of challenges."

Richard looked up at the Stig and tried not to laugh at his lab coat. "What's a reasonably-priced Zoid, Stig?"

There was no response.

"Well, how much money do we have, then?"

The Stig handed each of them a credit card.

"So we're going shopping on credit but we don't know how much we have? What are we supposed to do, just pick a Zoid, offer to buy it and hope there's enough money on here?"

Then he nodded.

"Do we all get the same amount?"

The Stig held up three fingers.

Richard gave up. "Come on lads, let's go shopping."

"I prefer the lab coat boys who talk back."

"Don't tell the Stig that. You don't know what he might do."

The Stig wasn't listening. He was staring longingly at the gleaming white Liger Zero that was galloping out into the desert, and wondering why Zoids hated him so. It had been over a week since the Stig last travelled at over 150 miles per hour, and he was feeling lonely.

Well, the spaceship had gone much faster than 150 miles per hour, but space moves so slowly that it doesn't really feel that fast. And besides which, he'd been asleep the whole time.

The Stig wondered whether there was anything he could do to help in the hunt for wild Guysacks. Maybe the giant robot scorpions would like him better than the pesky Ligers did. Yes, maybe they would let him pilot them.

…

It was late afternoon by the time they met up again at the outskirts of the town. The three of them had had a delightful afternoon traipsing around the local Zoid markets and dealerships. First, of course, Jeremy and Richard hit the local Zoitec and Zi Arms dealers to find the biggest and the shiniest. Jeremy was particularly taken with the Rayse Tiger, even if the colours were a bit wossy. They couldn't afford anything there, of course.

After that they tried a Republican army disposals store, where they ran into James, who was positively misty-eyed over the military cast-offs and getting distracted by history books. Unfortunately most of what was in that store was too expensive for them, too.

When they'd worked their way down to the scrap market, they decided to split up and keep the embarrassment to themselves.

"So what's this, then?"

They were casually inspecting Jeremy's choice, another blue Liger-type Zoid.

"It's the Liger Zero Jagger."

"I think you'll find it's pronounced 'Jaeger'," James said, absently. "It's the German 'J'."

"Who cares? 'Jagger' sounds cooler."

"So what does your _Jaeger_ do?"

"Speed!"

"Drugs are legal on this planet?"

"Don't be a moron."

"So you got a Zoid that's just like our first one, except with no blades and stupid fin-things on its head."

"It's faster! Look, those boosters are bigger."

"So you can crash it faster."

"And what about yours, Hammond? I don't know how that's supposed a win a race when it looks like a tropical blowfish."

"My Liger Zero Schneider is in better shape than your piece of junk," Richard replied. The Jaeger was decidedly scruffy-looking and they were all wondering how many miles it had left in it.

"I'd rather a Zoid that's cheap because it's old than because it's dead ugly."

Richard's Zoid may have been shiny, but it was also a garish orange – none of them would be caught dead in a car that colour. The bright blue blades attached to every available joint made an interesting look, too.

"At least it's going to run."

"I'll bet mine's still faster."

"Did you even look at those blades? I'll slice you to pieces. If you don't fall apart first, that is."

"Hey!" James interrupted them. "Doesn't anyone want to ask about my Zoid?"

"No," the others said, in unison, but they gave it a look anyway.

"It's a Panzer," James said, happily.

"Obviously. What on earth makes you think buying a tank was a good idea, Slow?"

"It's not that slow. The salesman told me it could reach 175 miles per hour. And it has armour so thick that it could survive any challenge that they throw at us."

Richard and Jeremy stared dubiously at the mountain of khaki-coloured steel in front of them.

"So how fast did you get it to go on the trip over here?"

"Well… about 20 miles per hour."

"May, I know I'm used to calling you Captain Slow, but that's pathetic even by your standards."

"It was a city street! I was hardly going to push it to the limit there. I'm sure it'll be way better when I can stretch it out properly on the test track."

"The track's not done yet."

"So?" Jeremy grinned, and glanced at Zeke. "Why wait? We must have a few hours of daylight left, and we've got our test driver right here."

Some say he lives on a diet of only deochalcum and papayas, and that his cousin had a starring role in Jurassic Park. All we know is, I haven't figured out what to call him yet, this schtick doesn't really work in writing, and he's taking off with the Jäger.

"OI! Come back here with my Zoid!"

"Come back, Sieg, we haven't even decided the track yet!"

The Liger Zero Jäger was always a fair distance away when their shouting made it stop. As it turned around to come out, it let out a growl that sounded suspiciously like a rude word.

They decided the length of their makeshift test track in a primitive manner. James fired a shell from the Panzer straight up in the air, and fortunately it landed half a mile away and made a visible crater without damaging people or property. Zeke would fuse with each Zoid in turn, take it around the crater and come back. The humans would stand at the start line and time them all. Simple, right?

The Jäger went first. It launched from the starting line at the drop of James' monogrammed handkerchief, and despite Richard's predictions, it didn't fall apart at first leap.

"That's just because Zeke's holding it together."

"What are you on about? He's just a pilot."

"Well, he doesn't just sit in the cockpit, does he? He fuses with the things. Who knows what else he does to them?"

"Shows how fast they are, that's what."

"Jeremy, that Zoid should be going _much_ faster on a straight than that."

Richard was right about that. Jäger's starting pace wasn't terrible, but it really should have been much better judging by what Jeremy was told by the salesman he bought it from.

"It'll get better. Sieg's just holding it back until the final sprint."

"It's not a horse, Jeremy," James snorted.

"Face it, it's a hunk of junk."

At the corner, the Zoid dug in and went almost horizontal trying to turn at speed, and for a moment they thought it wouldn't finish. Somehow, Sieg got it the right way up again. And then he kicked in the boosters.

"TAKE THAT!" Jeremy roared over the sound of the boosters as the Jäger roared across the finish line in what seemed like a matter of seconds. "Forty-five seconds! There's no way you can beat that!"

James looked at Richard significantly. "Yours is up next. For God's sake, Hammond, please tell me there's a killer engine under that hideous paint job."

"Oh, there is," Richard assured him, grimly. Just you wait and see.

The Schneider fouled itself on one of its own blades while walking to the start line and did a nosedive into the sand.

"Or at least, there should be."

Once it got properly started, the Schneider made a respectable pace right off the blocks. Not extraordinary, but it wasn't falling behind the Jäger and it hadn't fallen over again.

"That's what you get when you pay for quality," Richard said, with some satisfaction.

"It's orange and blue, Hamster. How is that quality?"

"Yours is junk. It'll come apart when we get to the challenges, and I'll win. Just you wait and see."

"Bollocks! Did you see what happened to the Jäger in that turn around the crater? It's so steep your little pincushion is going to get its pins all fouled up in the sand and you won't even finish."

"The blades are great! They make it more aerodynamic."

"Shut up," James said, urgently, as the Zoid neared the turn. They all held their breaths, briefly, as the Schneider took the bank, but Zeke must have learned his lesson from the last time and tried something a bit different. The Schneider dug its front claws into the sand as it rounded the turn, making its hindquarters swing around behind it, avoiding the banking problem. Facing the right direction again easily, the Zoid launched back into its stride before it had even stopped.

"Did that thing just _drift_?"

"Surely that's not the right word."

"I don't know what other word would be appropriate."

"How about _excellent_?" Richard crowed, looking over Jeremy's shoulder at the stopwatch as the Schneider crossed the line. "Only three seconds slower, and without the benefit of boosters!"

"I think that drag turn cost you more time than it was worth," James said, thoughtfully.

"But if he hadn't done that, the thing would have tripped over. Because it's covered in useless spines and it's _rubbish_."

"Is not. It was _brilliant_. I got the best deal out of all of you."

"Well my Jäger still won, so there."

"Hang on!" James protested. "We haven't even tried mine yet!"

They all looked up uneasily at the Panzer. Every panel on its side was overlaid with a thick hunk of khaki-coloured armour, and on top of that it had two gigantic cannons on its back and missile launchers attached to every possible flat surface. It was amazing that James managed to get the thing to _move_ here from the market. There was no way it could come close to winning a race.

But you don't really want to say that to a man's face when he has a vehicle that can make a reasonably-sized crater with only _one_ of its fifty-odd missiles.

When they gave the starting signal by dropping the handkerchief, now so sandy that James didn't want it back, the Panzer's hind legs dug nearly two meters down in the sand as it launched itself off. Each step it took left holes in the ground that the sand rushed back down to fill. When it reached the turning point, Zeke tried to skid it around the corner again and the weight of the Zoid pushed up so much sand, and dug itself in so badly, that it had to struggle to dig out again.

But it was moving.

By the time it reached the end of the course it had built up enough rhythm and momentum to get to a reasonable speed, and James was satisfied, if not exultant, when it crossed the line at a speed of one minute seven.

"Huh. Well. Pretty good, May. I guess."

"I got the best deal, Clarkson. It's obvious."

"There is _no way_ you're going to beat me in a time trial. Mine was still the fastest, even with the dodgy turn and the… low price range."

"Aha! So you admit that it's made of scrap now?"

"No, Hamster, I'm pointing out that it is clearly the best machine here if it can be in somewhat shabbier condition and still beat both of yours. And it'll beat you again when we start on the challenges tomorrow. Just you wait."

"I suppose," James said, with a feigned air of doubt, "That if all the challenges are based on speed, then you might be able to win. Yes, under those conditions you could manage it."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"That if there's anything like combat involved, you won't have a chance because my Schneider will chop you to pieces before you can blink."

"Ah, but you'll have to catch me first."

"I won't," James said, bluntly. "My Panzer could pot you both from a mile away without working up a sweat. No matter how fast you're going. And if I wanted to, I wouldn't even have to bother aiming, because I have so much firepower I could just carpet bomb the whole course if I wanted to."

At this point, they all agreed to take their Zoids on a leisurely stroll back to the apartment and have a nice cup of tea before going to bed to rest up for the challenges in the morning. Jeremy even promised to go a whole day without cracking any nasty jokes about homosexuals. Funny as it was, it just wasn't worth the risk when mild, well-mannered James May had his finger that close to a trigger.

If he'd known that all it took to make Jeremy Clarkson shut up was to travel around in a walking arsenal, James would have bought one years ago.


End file.
